


The Doctor's Doppelganger Will Do

by EmpireMurderer



Category: Doctor Who (2005), The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: Dominant Clara Oswin Oswald, F/M, Malcolm Tucker Uses Bad Language, PWP without Porn, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-06-29 02:45:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15720381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmpireMurderer/pseuds/EmpireMurderer
Summary: Set right after the Doctor forgets Clara and visits her in the diner. Clara wants to make up for the missed opportunity in the only way she can think of. Number 10's spin doctor will have no fucking clue how he fucking got fucked.





	The Doctor's Doppelganger Will Do

She left him in the diner, the Tardis de-materializing around him as he played her song. Fine. She would go to Gallifrey…the long way ‘round.

First stop. London.

 

Clara knew of the doppelganger; had been eyeing him suspiciously for months after spying him on television by chance.

“Oh, him?” the Doctor replied when she mentioned the man with his face. “He’s just an anomaly. I made sure he wasn’t an alien or robot or something.”

“But he looks exactly like you,” Clara stressed. “There’s bound to be an explanation.”

“Time and space are not infinite,” the Doctor shrugged. “There are only a set number of faces. You’d be surprised how many copies there are. Worst one of me I’ve run into was a daft, roman art collector.”

“Wait, was he a _Roman_  art collector? Or a roman _art_ collector?”

“The first one.”

 

Landing the Tardis as a back alley bar, Clara stepped out and headed towards Westminster. It was surprisingly easy to spot him on the street. She could hear him a kilometer away.

“If I had a fucking pound for every fucking time I’ve had to bail you out, I’d buy Tower fucking Bridge, lock you in it and drown it in the fucking Thames!”

Clara had never heard so much color in one sentence in her life, certainly not from the Doctor, but that hardly dissuaded her. She was on a mission and much too stubborn to change her mind.

Casing him was just as easy as he was never aware of anything but the stream of expletives sailing out of his mouth. While he was standing at a crosswalk, screaming into his phone, Clara slipped a white calling card into the pocket of his jacket. It was blank except for the location of her Tardis. He was completely unaware and she casually walked away.

 

Three hours later, while standing at the bar of the Tardis, the door opened and in he walked.

“The fuck is this place…?” he said, glancing all around.

“Get you a drink?” she called, waving a shot glass in the air. “First one’s on the house.”

“What kind of fucking sales tactic is that?” he asked as he sauntered in and sat down at the stool closest to her. “A good establishment doesn’t need to offer free drinks.”

“You just answered yourself. Establishment. We are not established yet.”

“No fucking kidding,” he responded, still looking around. “This place is a ghost town.”

“It’s also four in the afternoon,” she rolled her eyes. She would have thought she would be put off by his constant combative demeanor, but his accent seemed about twenty percent more Scottish and his short hair reminded her of the first months of the Doctor’s regeneration. A sadness crept over her at the reminder that she had been so aloof just after he had changed.

He took the shot from off the bar and threw it back like a champ. With a hearty ‘ahhh’ from the back of his throat, he held up the shot glass with a look of approval.

“What the hell is this?” he asked. “Surely, you’re not giving your top shelf for free?”

“’Course not,” she huffed lightly. “That would be absurd.”

“Then what is it?”

“Let’s see if you can guess.” She poured more into his glass from the bottle she held. He grinned in amusement and shot it back without a moment’s hesitation. Another ‘ahhh’ pulled from his throat and he shook his head though the brief smile stayed on his lips.

“No idea,” he answered, eyeing the bottle in her hand. “Macallan?”

“Nope. Care to try again?”

“Hit me.”

 

His third shot loosened him up. He was still a hard-ass, the perpetual top Alpha, but at least she had him in a good mood.

“I don’t bloody know what it is but I don’t think I want to know now,” he smiled his wolf smile.

“Oh, why’s that?”

“Because I don’t want to know how cheap this scotch is that is teasing my fucking pallet.”

“You fancy yourself a connoisseur?”

“Don’t you fucking know it. If anyone finds out I like the taste of a cheap scotch, I might as well pull down my pants and walk down Parliament in the dead of winter. Get my own cock fucking me sideways.”

“That might not be your best metaphor.”

“It’s the alcohol,” he shrugged. “It probably isn’t but let’s just blame it anyway.”

“You got it.”

He looked at his watch before glancing to the door and then spied all around again before placing his attention back on her.

“You waiting for a friend?” she asked.

“Not a friend. No,” he replied grimly.

“But you’re waiting on someone.”

“Yeah.” He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out the blank card, slapping it on the bar in front of her. “Someone pulled a reverse pickpocket on me today. Would have rather he just stole my wallet.”

Clara eyed it but she didn’t know what he saw on the psychic paper.

“Hmm…that’s an odd one,” she replied vaguely. “You don’t know who it was?”

“Not a fucking clue. I mean, how many times have you told someone to meet you in some out of the way bar in the middle of the fucking afternoon unless you’ve got sinister motives? And why just write the word ‘fucker’? What’s the fucking game? Is he trying to fucking piss me off? I’ve been called way worse. Maybe he’s just hoping my dick could rustle out the itch from his prostate. I don’t fucking know…”

“Is that why you came?”

“I’m not going to judge the frills of others but I’m not some shit packer that meets with mysterious, herpes-stained wankers because of a fucking note.”

“Fine, okay,” she held up her hands in defense then pointed back at the calling card. “Besides, I don’t think that says fucker. It looks more like tucker.”

He widened his eyes in surprise and picked up the card, bringing it up close.

“For fuck’s sake…” he remarked in disbelief. “Now that you mention it…”

How easy psychic manipulation was, even with a manipulative spin doctor.

“Did I solve it for you? Are you waiting for Tucker?” she said, playing dumb.

“No, lass, though it makes more sense now. I’m Tucker.”

“Oh, nice to meet you Tucker.”

“No, I…right, my last name is Tucker. My first name is Malcolm.” He gave her a toothy grin. He became a predator in a flash. “What is your name?”

“Clara,” she answered. She instantly played the prey. “Nice to meet you, Malcolm.”

 

 

“What’s a beautiful woman like you doing tending an off the street dive like this fucking hole?” he asked as she handed him a beer.

“My friend owns the bar. Just filling in for her today,” Clara smoothly lied as she lifted her own beer to her lips and took a drink. He stared at her mouth with his own noticeable thirst. “I just have to ask. Do you ever use the word ‘fucking’ unironically?”

“Do I ever use-…?” he stared at her in surprise. “Of course I do. It’s just I’ve been trying to be a fucking gentleman since I saw you behind the bar.”

Clara laughed and shook her head, taking another drink as she did so. Malcolm pondered her in open wonderment.

“What?” she asked. “Why are you staring at me like that?”

“It’s just I don’t generally meet people like you. You’re not at all intimidated by me. Most people are intimidated.”

“Well, sorry I can’t be like most people so that you can categorize me.” Even if he didn’t look exactly like the Doctor, she’d seen enough vicious aliens and been through many near death experiences not to be intimidated by a shouty human. “Perhaps it’s because you remind me of someone I used to know.”

“Oh?” he said in sudden interest. “How so? Was he as handsome as I am?”

“Yes, though his hair was longer and you wear nicer suits.”

Her answer made him sit higher in his stool, intrigued by this other man that had a connection with this beautiful woman.

“Tell me more. You’ve got me fucking curious. Was he a Scot too?”

“He sounded like one.”

“What kind of person was he?”

“He was insanely intelligent but inconceivably daft when it came to some matters.”

“Like what?”

“He knew how to get what he wanted but didn’t seem to have the slightest clue how to ask for it. He was always taking the long way ‘round.”

“That’s where he and I differ,” Malcom stated with a wink. “I don’t mind asking.”

“I bet you don’t.”

“Tell me more.”

“Well, he was a bit of a rocker. Wore sunglasses at night and carried around his guitar everywhere. He had many friends and even more enemies. When I first met him he had this red satin lined jacket that I liked but then he stopped wearing it and that was a bit of a disappointment.”

“I ask you about him and you go to his fucking jacket?” Malcolm mocked.

“Don’t knock it. It was a sexy jacket.”

“Oh, you think he was sexy?”

“Of course.”

“Did you love him?”

“Yes.”

“Did he love you?”

“I think so.”

“You don’t know?”

“No, he would never say. This was how he could be so daft sometimes. There were moments between us where I thought, ‘finally, he gets it,’ but then the moment passes and nothing ever happened. It’s my one biggest regret in life.”

“Where is this idiot now?” Malcolm jeered. “What kind of fucking retard leaves a smoking hot woman like you without so much as a good bye shake of the cock?”

“Dead,”Clara sighed.

“Oh,” Malcolm replied sheepishly. “I usually am not in the habit of putting my fucking foot in my mouth. Sorry.”

“S’okay. The wound is still fresh but I’m past the grief. It’s just regrets now. God, I wish he had been a more sexually forward person, ya know? I would be grieving him and not the missed opportunity.”

“I want to get this straight,” Malcolm surmised. “Your biggest regret is that you never had a fucking shag with him?”

“That’s right. If he were here right now I’d grab him by his hoodie, throw him into that booth and pull his pants off with my teeth.”

“And, wait a minute…” Malcolm began, deep in thought, “You’re saying I remind you of him?”

“Yup,” Clara confirmed. “You look exactly like him. I’m not sure I could tell you two apart.”

“I certainly don’t want to be too forward,” Malcolm said, making intense eye contact with her so that she could not mistake his sincerity, “but I feel that I would be missing an opportunity to correct your friend’s mistakes by telling you, unironically, that the thought of fucking you makes my cock harder than a fucking quantum physics exam.”

It was just that easy. Inwardly, Clara smiled evilly.

“Stand up,” she told him, her demeanor suddenly serious. Malcolm hesitated briefly before rising off his stool. “Step back a little.” He did as he was told.

“Do you want me to spin around now?” he asked sarcastically but did it anyway.

“Take off your jacket,” she ordered. He pulled it off while she came around the bar.

“Jesus, you’re just a pint size,” he remarked when she was near him.

“Shut up,” she said as she fingered the buttons of his shirt. Surprisingly, he ceased his talk though his chest was rising and falling with considerably more speed. He stood as still as a statue as she opened up his shirt and ran her nails along his bare chest, raising goosebumps along his skin. Her fingers skirted down his fly where she noted the large bulge under the tightly pressed fabric.

“From now on you’ll respond to the title of doctor,” she demanded as she unbuttoned his pants.

“Any fucking thing you fucking want,” he growled. His chest heaved with anticipation.

Clara went down on her knees to inspect him. She didn’t stop to wonder if time and space made copies of just faces or the whole body. She didn’t care. For all intents and purposes this was the Doctor’s body. This was the color of his skin, the shape of his abs, the size of his cock.

Malcolm drew in an audible lungful of breath when her fingers pressed around his firm dick. He leaned against the booth behind him, with his palms clenching the edge of the table, watching her movements like a hawk. His mouth dropped open, eliciting a gasp when her tongue touched to the underside of his cock, gliding hotly to the tip.

Without so much as a warning, she slipped him entirely into her mouth. He suppressed a muted groan but couldn’t disguise the pleasure of it from his expression. He stood propped against the table while she sucked him into her mouth, over and over again, savoring the taste of his skin, thinking this must be what the Doctor tastes like.

She didn’t mind that he began to lightly thrust his hips into her but she felt that his energy would be better focused on the actual fucking. She pooled his pants around his ankles, stood up and pushed him onto the booth behind him.

He stared up at her like looking into the heavens. He was not used to being treated this way but he clearly liked it.

“Do you want to look at me?” she asked him. He nodded his head. “Then do it.”

“Come here,” he could barely mouth. Within moments his hands had snaked under her skirt and his fingers drew her panties down her legs. He pulled her dress over her head and was pleasantly surprised that was all there was to it.

“Fucking beautiful…” he hissed as he brought her to his lap and instantly snatched her breast into his mouth. He sucked on her nipple and she threw back her head, unable to stop the moan from escaping deep down her throat. “That’s right, Clara,” he smirked. “Let me hear you.”

“Say my name,” she whispered into the air.

“Clara,” he repeated.

“Again.”

“Clara.”

He was rough with her, his hands gripping her ass and gliding across her breasts in insatiable need. She straddled his groin and felt his cock burning at her entrance.

“You are the Doctor,” she told him.

“Yes.”

“Say it.”

“I’m a doctor.”

“No, you are the Doctor.”

“I am the Doctor.”

As soon as he claimed the word, she sank down onto him, causing every muscle in his body to reflexively tense.

“Jesus fucking Christ…” he muttered. His eyes were shut tight and his jaw clenched, grasping impossibly for control. He filled her so wonderfully; it made her believe he couldn’t possibly be human. Her moans filled the silence of the bar as she sway into him, soaking up the feeling of him so deep inside. He pulled his arms around her back and thrust up into her. She arched her back in response, finding the position that best accentuated their union and constricting herself around his cock. A series of ‘fucks’ escaped his mouth.

The intensity of it was more than either of them had ever experienced. This was not just a good fuck. It was the perfect fuck.

She bucked on him till she felt the swelling of her orgasm come to life. It forced it’s radiating glow through her body, finally exploding once every cell had been touched. She cried out the Doctor’s name as she came.

Malcolm had barely held on, fighting to get her to the very end before he finally broke. With a clenched roar, he came inside her, flooding every drop of his seed into her body. It took some time for either one to catch their breaths.

“What the fucking fuck…?” was all Malcolm could respond.

 

Before she went back to Gallifrey, Clara stood at the entrance to the bar and knotted Malcolm’s tie for him.

“Remember me,” she told him.

“Forever,” he replied with a boyish grin.

There was no way to fool herself into believing he was the Doctor, but he looked just like him and that was good enough for her. She could face the raven with no regrets.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, kudos and comments are appreciated!


End file.
